What If
by chelseyb
Summary: Hermione is happy with her life. But in rare moments, she wonders about a road not taken, and there is one particular memory that stands out. Oneshot. Canon-compliant.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, nor do I make any profit from this use. They are the property of one JK Rowling, & to an extent, I suppose, Warner Brothers.

**Author's Note: **This takes place both during DH & after the war. It should be obvious which scenes are which. Fairly tame, just a bit of kissing. Canon-compliant.

The words in italics are all borrowed from various books in the Harry Potter series. They are not my words.

* * *

><p><strong>What If?<strong>

Sometimes, late at night, Hermione Granger-Weasley lays next to her snoring husband and wonders. She is happy. She has a wonderful husband, two beautiful children, and a fulfilling job. She has made a difference in the lives of others. She reconciled with her parents after modifying their memories, and the Grangers couldn't be more pleased with their redheaded grandchildren. She has close friends – Harry and Ginny, Luna, Neville.

But there is the rare occasion where she wonders. Wonders if she made the right decisions, wonders if this is the life for her, wonders if she could have had this life with another. She wonders things she never tells a soul, not even Ron. It is at these times that she remembers a few moments where, as a young woman, she came to a startling conclusion.

At thirteen when, newly revived from petrification, she was so proud of her boys for defeating the basilisk. As she reunited with Ron and Harry in the Great Hall, she knew that someday she would end up with one of them.

"_You solved it! You solved it!"_

At fifteen when her boys broke her heart by not even considering her as a date for the Yule Ball until it appeared she was their only hope. And then, after the ball, she realized it was Ron's callousness that hurt the most, and Ron was the one she wanted.

"_Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"_

At eighteen when Ron abandoned them, an act so nearly unforgivable they continued to have rows about it well into their post-war relationship. She had never felt closer to Harry, the only person she had left, and she thought perhaps Ron made her decision for her, and maybe it had been Harry all along.

"_Harry, they're here ... right here."_

And then, just a few short weeks after that, something that has stayed with her for years, the image that always comes to mind when she wonders.

She wonders what if.

**oOo**

"_Ron, that's – that's nothing!"_

"_Maybe we should just stay here, Harry. Grow old ..."_

With a gasp Hermione woke from a very unclear and confusing dream. A noise had woken her, she was sure, but as she looked around the dark tent, she couldn't see anything unusual. With a sigh she rolled off her bed, tugging on her shoes and casting about for her jacket. Harry was on watch, but better to be safe than sorry these days. They'd had too many close calls already.

"Harry –" she began when she stepped outside, arms wrapped around her body against the cold, stopping abruptly when she realized he had left his normal perch just outside the entrance.

Hermione whirled around, double-checking the interior of the tent to make sure she hadn't overlooked him. When that search was fruitless, she burst outside again, completely forgetting her lack of wand in her desperation to find him. Snatchers, Death Eaters, illness – a thousand horrific possibilities ran through her mind as she called for him. "Harry? Harry!"

A noise like a yell caught her attention, and Hermione ran in that direction, convinced it was the same thing that had woken her. She couldn't lose Harry, too. Though they didn't speak much, she saw the look in his eyes, the fear that someday she would leave him as – as Ron had.

Hermione followed the noises through the woods until she came a stop so sudden she might have been caught by a Full Body-Bind, clinging to a tree for support as an astounding sight, both terrible and beautiful, filled her eyes.

Ron, Ronald Bilius Weasley, Ron who had left for good, was standing a few yards away, clenching a sword (a sword?), and though Hermione couldn't make out his expression in the darkness, she could tell by the tautness of his shoulders that he was tensed, stressed, mesmerized by the same vision that captured Hermione.

Harry crouched near a fallen tree, inexplicably wet, shouting at Ron, though she couldn't make out the words. His face she could see, and he was scared, worried – and stunned.

In between the boys were herself and Harry, or rather, images of them. They were not quite completely distinct, yet not translucent, rising out of what Hermione now recognized as the locket. The Horcrux. They were naked, entwined with one another as they taunted Ron. As with Harry, she didn't understand the words, but the expressions on their faces were terrible. Mocking. Haughty. Superior.

Then – Hermione's breath constricted in her throat – the images of her and Harry began to kiss, discovering each other more passionately than she ever had with anyone in her very limited experience. Hermione sagged against the tree as the cloudy images in her vision were replaced with real ones in her mind, as if she was looking at a Pensieve account of memories she didn't know she had.

She and Harry pressed against one another, snogging hungrily, giggling, stumbling until she was trapped against a wall. Exploring fingers, groping hands, gasps and moans. Meeting with enough force to take their breaths away. Falling onto a bed, smiling and whispering and tearing at their clothing.

And then with a scream and a clang of metal the film reel in Hermione's mind stopped, and she saw that the Horcrux image had disappeared, too. She stumbled away drunkenly, knowing somehow that that was something she was not meant to see. She had to return to the tent before the boys.

She found her way back to their campsite without knowing how she got there, shedding her outerwear with unusual haste and diving under her blankets. Asleep. As far as they knew, she was asleep the entire time, and she willed her breathing to slow, mopping the sweat off her face with a sheet. Fast asleep with nary a clue as to what had just happened.

When Harry called her name to wake her, she was suitably confused and just as equally angry at Ron. The confusion and anger were real; the reasons behind them were not. She yelled and accused and said all the right things, for there was a time when she was actually furious with Ron, a time before she was assaulted with an image of a forbidden future.

When she went to bed, Hermione tried her hardest to forget what she had seen, wondering if the boys had the same problem. It kept her up for hours, pestering her until she seriously considered modifying her own memory. This was not something she was allowed to think about.

It wasn't until the next day that she realized forgetting was not as easy as she'd hoped. They were packing up the campsite to move. Always on the run. Harry stopped her while Ron was outside.

"Hermione," he said hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'll forgive him eventually," she muttered, sending her books back into her bag with a wave of her wand.

"No." Harry grabbed her wrist gently, forcing her to look at him. Concern and understanding flooded his green eyes, and she knew, she knew, that he saw what was on her mind. Maybe he saw her in the forest, or maybe it was their years of friendship that allowed them to communicate so silently, but Harry knew what she had seen.

"I ..." She couldn't. They had come close to skirting that line too often while Ron was gone. She was angry with Ron, but she loved him, and Harry loved Ginny. And the two Weasleys most definitely reciprocated. They couldn't hurt their two closest friends irreparably simply to explore a mere possibility. "I'm fine, Harry. We should get going."

Harry waited a moment longer before releasing her, and she knew that he knew she was lying. Later, she would consider what would have happened if Harry pressed the issue, but he hadn't, and so it was laid to rest except for a few very private moments of wondering.

What if ...?

**oOo**

Head Auror Harry Potter loves his home office. He enjoys his job, but too often at the Ministry he is interrupted by minute details, paperwork, interoffice squabbles. At home he can concentrate on his actual work, and when he needs a break, his family is right there.

His office is his sanctuary. When he is overwhelmed by politics or frustrated by a lack of progress, he can look at the pictures that surround him and remember for whom he does this. Unlike the rest of the Potter home, Harry himself decorated this room, and the one prominent feature is photographs.

His children at varying ages. Ginny, from those early years to their wedding day to the present. The trio at Hogwarts and beyond. Various combinations of Weasleys. Teddy. His parents, Sirius, Remus and Tonks. The Order. And one that Harry keeps in an obscure corner of the bookshelf so that he only looks at it when he intends to.

It's one of him and Hermione, dancing at Neville's wedding. Hannah gave it to him, laughing, saying if she didn't know better she would have sworn they were the couple. He's glad Ron and Ginny weren't around to hear that comment. The picture captures the moment perfectly – they are happy, smiling and laughing as he twirls her around.

Harry watches the picture for the split second at the end before it resets itself. For an instant as the song slows, he brings Hermione into a close embrace and the wide smile on her face fades as she looks into his eyes. If he hadn't been there, he wouldn't even know it happens, so brief is the moment.

He looks at the picture only in those rare times, usually when the rest of the family is asleep late at night, when he ponders a different future. He is happy, brilliantly happy. But he can't help but remember two cloudy figures, entwined passionately, and wonder.

What if ...?


End file.
